


This Aint Country

by CherriesOnTheCake



Series: Anon Prompts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best friend’s brother, F/M, Fluff, Just a bit underage: Clarke is 17, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherriesOnTheCake/pseuds/CherriesOnTheCake
Summary: Clarke: So if I offered to bring you some of my lasagna, it’d go to waste?





	This Aint Country

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Anon ‘Sentence Prompts’ Series from my Tumblr. I hope you enjoy! The prompt is ‘Clarke when was the last time you ate?’

**Clarke** : When was the last time you ate?

 

Bellamy receives the message around midnight as he finishes up his cigarette break with shaking hands. He’s been scrubbing actual human brains off the walls of a serial killer’s apartment all week. The guy’s ex-wife wants to clean up and sell this place as fast as she can and so has practically thrown money at Bellamy to get everything done.

 

Still, despite how busy he is, he always tries to make time for Clarke. Unlike the rest of his sister’s friends she’s actually a good influence; he wants to keep her around as long as possible. Or at least until Octavia finishes college.

 

So instead of ignoring the message and returning back to work like he wants to do, he leans back against the rickety fire escape and replies. 

 

**Me** : Lunch. 

 

**Clarke** : What did you have?

 

Bellamy scratches his head as he  tries to remember.

 

**Me** : Meatball sub. Filled me up.

 

**Clarke** : So if I offered to bring you some of my lasagna, it’d go to waste?

 

Bellamy grins. Clarke makes the best damned lasagna he has ever tasted. It’s even better than his mom’s, something he didn’t think possible until she showed up with it one morning as a sidedish for Octavia’s thirteenth birthday party.

 

Bellamy’s mouth waters just at the thought of it.

 

**Me** : I didn’t say that.

 

**Clarke** : I’ll be there in fifteen x

 

Bellamy slumps back tiredly against the firescape for minutes afterward, exhausted and with the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind his left eye. The last thing he wants to do is go back inside the house and clean up brains and blood and bone fragments from the furniture but he has to. Like it or not cleaning up crime scenes is his livelihood; it’s a part of his life. 

 

He still unbuttons his overalls, carefully pulling them off his clothes so he doesn’t get a single stain on them. For all that she acts like a woman twice her age sometimes, Clarke is barely seventeen. Just because he has to see this type of shit day in, day out doesn’t mean she has to. 

 

“You look like shit,” Clarke’s mouth pinches disapprovingly as she watches him demolish an entire pan of lasagna in her car. She looks so much like her mom that Bellamy would roll his eyes if it wouldn’t waste important eating time; he wasn’t kidding about Clarke’s lasagna. It’s perfect.

 

“Is running yourself into the ground really worth all of this, Bellamy?” She asks in a soft, uncertain, voice. “You’re not even twenty-two yet and you already have an ulcer. I’m sure Octavia would rather have you well than however much money this gig will give you.”

 

It’s a thoughtless, condescending comment to make considering she knows how much Bellamy struggles just to keep the lights on at home. Clarke, whose mom is some top surgeon, has no idea what it’s like to live in the real world and if there weren’t tears in her eyes he’d absolutely lay into her. Instead he just hunches his shoulders and carries on eating. 

 

She crosses her arms and legs when he doesn’t answer and the tight red dress she’s wearing pulls in frankly indecent ways. He doesn’t ask why she’s wearing a tight red dress and five inch heels at 12:30on a school night, too scared that the reason involves his sister, but he does raise an eyebrow when the neckline of her dress slips a little to reveal the pale lace of her bra. 

 

Bellamy could have gone his entire life without seeing Clarke Griffin’s underwear, but now the knowledge that she buys the same colour bras as his ex is seared in his mind. Absently he wonders if her panties match, struggles to keep his eyes from straying, and then feels furious for even thinking it. He focusses on his lasagna, eating it methodically, until its finished.

 

“You should sleep in the back for a couple of hours,” She licks her lips before taking the empty lasagna pan, and his eyes instinctively follow the slick her tongue leaves behind. “I’ll wake you up, I promise.”

 

“Can’t,” He clears his throat and before he knows it a pink water bottle is being shoved in his face. He takes a long gulp before handing it back. When she scowls he rolls his eyes but takes another gulp until the water is almost finished. “Need to finish my bit before Miller comes.”

 

Miller’s a senior from Octavia’s school that he pays cash in hand (and way under minimum wage) to do the plastering for him. He’s a good kid but too rough around the edges to risk having him interact with clients, so Bellamy gets him to come in during the night. 

 

As he returns the water bottle he pulls out his phone, about to give the kid his one hour reminder, when all of a sudden he finds himself with a surprisingly heavy lapful of soft curves and warm skin. His eyes widen when he sees the entire cup of Clarke’s bra. It’s a blue so pale that it’s practically white, Echo had almost exactly the same one.

 

It’s a struggle to raise his eyes to her face but he manages and immediately regrets it when he sees the determined pinch to her mouth. Whatever the Hell she’s thinking right now, one thing is absolutely clear, the stubborn idiot isn’t going to listen to a single word he says. Still, he owes it to his sister to at least try.

 

“What are you doing, princess?”

 

“De-stressing you,” Her voice is deeper, rougher, and when she finally slides firmly across his lap, his dick goes from zero to 60 so fast it gives him a head rush. “I think it’s working.” 

 

“This is a bad idea.”

 

“Shh, it’ll be worth it. I promise.” Clarke shoots him a flash of a smile when he falls back into his seat and before he knows it she’s sliding down onto the floor between his knees. 

 

Thirty minutes minutes later Bellamy is in the backseat, half-asleep, with his head settled comfortably on Clarke’s breasts. She’s not wearing the bra (and matching panties) any more, Bellamy threw them somewhere, he can’t remember where, not that it matters of course; she looks perfect naked.

 

“You really got my number huh?” He mumbles drowsily into her skin. “Food, sex, and sleep are all of my favourite things.”

 

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you in an hour, I promise.”

 

She kisses his brow and he raises his eyes to see tears glittering on her lashes. He hates seeing her upset, especially over him. At her age she should be having fun and doing whatever the Hell she wants like Octavia. 

 

“Stop that.” He tilts his face up to kiss her throat. “Please.”

 

“Can’t help it.” She sniffs. “The guy I love is working himself into an early grave and I can’t do a single thing to stop it.”

 

The guy she...

 

Bellamy inhales her skin. Everything she does for him now makes sense; the food, the texts to check he’s arrived home safely, the weekly afterschool visits with or without Octavia to clean his apartment and do the laundary. 

 

Every little thing she does to brighten his day makes perfect sense now. Of course she loves him.

 

“All of this is just until the business gets onto its feet, until I can justify hiring someone to help out.” He rubs his eyes suddenly not wanting to sleep. Clarke deserves better than for him to fall asleep on her after that confession. 

 

She loves him. 

 

Just the idea of that makes him smile and he pushes up onto his elbows to look her in the eye. “So you can stop crying okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes but reaches up to dab her eyes, and before he can talk himself out of it Bellamy ducks down for a kiss. 

 

“I’m not going to tell you what a bad idea this is,” He nuzzles her jaw, the smooth curve of her neck. She smells like that expensive body lotion she keeps in his bathroom for whenever she stays over; the one that smells a bit like chocolate and a bit like something else. “You’ve seen me in relationships. You know.” 

 

He kisses up to her ear. “But you should think about what being with me means before we go any further.”

 

“I’ve thought about it plenty,” Clarke grins as she wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re not as bad a guy as you think you are. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” 

 

Then after fisting a hand into his hair she pulls him down for a filthy kiss and Bellamy can’t help but wonder what these girls do when he’s not around. 

 

**O** : So, you and Clarke are together now.

 

Bellamy reads the text from his bed the following week, Clarke curled into him. They’ve been there for a couple of hours at least, plenty of time for his sister to have accidentally walked in.

 

**Me** : I love her, O. Don’t give her shit about it. 

 

**O** : Just as long as you remember how much shit I didn’t give you when I manage to convince Lincoln to date me.

 

Bellamy scowls.

 

**Me** : Lincoln is five years older than me. No way in Hell that’s ever happening.

 

-/-

 


End file.
